


End of the Line

by krrs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Avengers: Endgame Fix-It, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krrs/pseuds/krrs
Summary: Bucky is precise with bullets, not words. But he tries to be, and it feels like he comes close when he says, “I’m gonna miss you, buddy.” He doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything so much in his life.





	End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Listen...Endgame did Steve so goddamned dirty. Where did all his character development go? Where was the closure? I'm pissed. This is my solution, it's rushed and short and I'm sorry about that :( 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes!  
> (hmu on tumblr @starrysteverogers because I need more friends on there lol)

Bucky is precise with bullets, not words. But he tries to be, and it feels like he comes close when he says, “I’m gonna miss you, buddy.” He doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything so much in his life. The way his throat squeezes deep and thick and pulls at the words as they crawl from his mouth, the way his chest tightens around a rapidly pumping heart, tha-dunk, tha-dunk, tha-dunk, the way his eyes burn with tears he can’t even blink away because he refuses to surrender these last few seconds he has with Steve, _his Steve_.

And it’s clear from the way Steve looks back at him that he knows how much of a goodbye this is, too. “It’ll be okay, Buck.” Steve says and tries to smile. Bucky takes it to mean, ‘you’ll be okay’. The mission’s easy enough, return the stones, a task that Steve Rogers can certainly handle. But Steve’s never been good at following orders. 

Bucky holds blue eyes tight. He works to memorize Steve’s nose, the line of his jaw and color of his lips like they aren’t already burned into his memory. Tha-dunk. He wonders if Steve is doing the same to him right now, searing his image behind his own eyelids as they stare at one another. It feels like it lasts minutes but it’s still not long enough as Steve’s shoulder slides from his grasp and Bucky watches his best friend walk away.

Bucky can’t breathe. This is it. The end of the line.

For some reason, he’d never believed it would come. Bucky could never comprehend living without Steve and selfishly doesn’t want to. But the world never asks you for what you want. You have to ask for things, beg for them, work for them and demand them. Earn them.

Bucky doesn’t know if he’s earned Steve Roger’s love. He’s too terrified to ask. Either the world, Steve, or himself. He’d probably get different answers from all three and he wants the answer to be black or white. Yes or no. Tha-dunk. Steve is slipping on the helmet and Bucky’s nails dig into his palm where his hands coil in his pockets. This is it, the end of the line. If he speaks now, if he opens his mouth even slightly, he knows Steve will see, Steve will wait and Steve will hear him because Steve’s waiting for it, too. 

Steve’s choice to complete his mission, _Steve’s_ mission, not the Avenger’s mission, is made based on the singular variable of Bucky’s silence. One second Steve is there, the next he’s not. Dr. Banner is counting and Bucky’s not hearing. His eyes are glassing over, his pulse sinking. Bucky works to bury his heartbreak where he stands because he won’t be able to carry this around with him. 

Tha-dunk. It hurts to swallow, to think. He turns away, wants to leave. The absolute certainty of Banner’s numbers crack his heart further, how could he not see? Steve is finally choosing himself over everyone else. Over Bucky Barnes. Though, maybe he shouldn’t blame them for not predicting this, it’s an outcome the world never suggested they would see. Bucky’s mouth tastes bitter and his eyes sting. 

It’s not like they could have a life together. Steve Rogers will always be Captain America and Bucky will always have been the Winter Soldier. Combat and bloodshed follow them like bloodhounds, relentless and starving. Steve deserves happiness. He deserves peace. 

There’s a familiar noise as the machine recoils. Bucky stands, shoulders halfway turned, head pointed away. He stops breathing, he stops thinking. More definitive whirring and zapping and then silence for a second. Bucky can hear the smile in Sam’s voice as he claps and goes, “alright!”. And as Bruce laughs out a, “nicely done, Cap”. Bucky can’t fill his lungs, his ribs have turned to metal and won’t expand. His brain at a stand still, his boots sewn into the dirt. Hands in pockets as his heart shatters.

Bucky doesn’t look but he keeps his eyes open. He’s acutely aware of Steve popping off the helmet, of Dr. Banner shutting down the machine, it’s hums quieting to a dull droning and relieved words being exchanged between his three friends. Bucky can’t look. 

He didn’t ask the world for this. He didn’t think there was a chance of obtaining this. Happiness and love. It’s too good to be true and if he looks, Steve might disappear. Bucky might disappear. He’s surely putting scars in the thick skin of his palm with how tightly it’s wound, Steve’s voice bleeds into the air and over to Bucky as he stands somehow both grounded and untethered simultaneously. 

After a life of such sadness, this bliss is unwelcomed. It’s threatening and has the body language of a liar. 

There’s crunching of boots over dirt behind him, tha-dunk. Bucky lifts his foot with great effort and turns as his heart beats wildly. And Steve Rogers is there. Right in front of him. Bucky’s brow furrows, his nose scrunches slightly and he can feel that he’s scowling. It’s the face he makes before he cries. A hardly hidden smile sits on Steve’s lips and his eyes gleam at Bucky. Steve Rogers is right there. Tha-dunk. It doesn’t feel real. Bucky can’t breathe.

In a ferocious movement, Steve lunges forward and wraps his arms around Bucky. It’s all kinds of clumsy and Steve grips at him like he could slip away, like he’s the one who was supposed to leave. The scent of Steve is what breaks Bucky. It smells like summer in Brooklyn, fireworks in the park and screams on roller coasters, like paint and charcoal, like a sweaty cot and an unwashed uniform, like metal, like Steve Rogers. Bucky’s arms fly up and wind around Steve, he clutches at the hair at Steve’s nape with such a gentleness it surprises him. 

They’ve hugged before, but never like this. Never this tightly, never this desperately. Bucky’s lip trembles.

“I didn't ask you to choose me,” he says to Steve. His voice breaks in the middle of the sentence and he tightens his arms even further. “I never would have, I didn’t - _God, Steve_.” Bucky can feel Steve’s nose right by his ear, warm and sweaty skin tickling his neck, he can’t get close enough.

“I know.”

“You _idiot!_ ” Bucky breathes, relief and anger overlapping.

Steve rubs at Bucky’s back. “I know you didn’t ask me to choose.” They don’t let go. “I lost Peggy but I didn’t lose you. You’re here now. And that’s what matters; there was no choosing to do,” Steve says rather matter of factly. He sounds just as choked up as Bucky does. He’s so warm and Bucky rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder. Bruce and Sam are eyeing them, gazes turning from casual onlooking to stares of realization and Bucky’s hand slips from where it tangles in Steve’s short hair in slight embarrassment.

“This doesn’t feel real, Steve,” mumbles Bucky. He then pulls back, hands reluctantly letting go of his best friend. Steve does the same, his hands coming to rest on Bucky’s hips. It’s incredibly intimate for them. Bruce and Sam begin to walk away as butterflies nest in Bucky’s stomach. He’s having trouble breathing. 

“It is.” Steve’s hands are shaky on him. His blue eyes nervously moving from Bucky’s right eye to his left, mouth slightly open in preparation for some sort of retaliation. Bucky sighs. Deep and concentrated. His arms are awkwardly at his sides; Bucky slowly drags them upwards to rest on top of Steve’s where they sit notched. He wants to tell Steve it’s okay that his hands are there, but other words are more important right now. Tha-dunk.

“I love you, punk.” Bucky whispers. He never thought it’d be so easy to say, that it would slip out like butter. The words are so long overdue and he blinks, not wanting to cry. Steve smiles at him.

“I love you,” Steve leans to capture Bucky’s lips in a featherlight pressing. A ghost of a kiss, tha-dunk. A tear does escape from Bucky’s eye and he breathes into the kiss, body pressing forward. “Jerk,” Steve hisses.


End file.
